


With Silver Luck

by MayQueen517



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-29
Updated: 2012-09-29
Packaged: 2017-11-15 06:05:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/523954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayQueen517/pseuds/MayQueen517
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She might have outgrown names and lives, but she thinks she’s years off from outgrowing this simple comfort at four in the morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Silver Luck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VerboseWordsmith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerboseWordsmith/gifts).



> Based off of a prompt for fic inspired by The Boys Are Too Refined by The Hush Sound. Exactly where I got the title from as well!
> 
> For VerboseWordsmith.

She’s been going for three weeks, four days, and twelve hours since she last saw someone she could trust. She is the Black Widow and she doesn’t need paltry comforts. Except for how she is also Natalia Romanova. She is human.

There’s an ache thrumming through her sternum, though she’s not sure if it’s from an imagined ache, or the kick that had been landed there two days ago. She is tired. She is hungry and she is -

Awake.

She sits in her bed, staring at the wall, trying to clear away the dream, forgetting it. She is no longer Natalia Romanova; she is far too worn for that name any longer. She is Natasha Romanoff and that is all she needs to be these days.

“Jarvis, lights,” she murmurs, knowing the AI hears her as the lights come onto the dimmest setting she’s asked for. She once said that Jarvis was Tony’s tribute to his Daddy issues, but she’s starting to think that all of them look to Jarvis as their own form of tribute to the same.

“Is there anyone in the gym?” she asks, voice soft as she stands, checking the clock. She can guess a few who may be in the gym at four in the morning, but having Jarvis confirm it is always nice.

“Agent Barton is presently in the gym with Captain Rogers, Agent Romanoff,” he says, voice pitched low and Natasha sometimes wants to pick Tony’s brain on how he managed to create an AI who understands voice modulation. She murmurs a quiet thanks, pulling a loose pair of sweatpants on as she pads down to the gym.

The gym is the same. It is always the same. Clint and Steve testing out new strategies or testing out some of Clint’s newest arrows. Tony might be the engineering genius, but the compounds that Clint comes up with are more impressive than nearly anything Tony can. She watches them, watching Clint pack something into one of the canisters that are attached to his arrows and he twists it, grinning wolfishly at Steve.

“I’m not sure I like that look,” Steve says, full of good humor and ease. Natasha steps up to sit on one of the weight benches, catching Clint’s eye, giving him a quick nod. It acknowledges the worry but she doesn’t want cosseting. She wants to watch them, she wants to work out for an hour or so, and then she wants breakfast. Maybe not in this order.

“If you can dodge it, I’ll make breakfast,” Clint says, grinning as Steve barks out a laugh. She wonders how often and how long they spend down here, practicing and taking their own mind off the day before.

“Seems fair. Care to judge, Natasha?” Steve asks politely, looking over his shoulder, willing to include her if she wants. She’s talked to Steve more and more since moving into the mansion. She’s talked to him and listened to more. She thinks back to her dream, wondering what that version of herself would have to say about this. She banishes it with a blink, taking in the scene for herself to focus.

“I can do that,” Natasha says, watching Clint relax and grin even more widely. She settles in on the bench and breathes in slow and measured as she watches.

She might have outgrown names and lives, but she thinks she’s years off from outgrowing this simple comfort at four in the morning. Natasha watches as Clint throws a blind hay-maker at Steve, laughing when Steve dodges it easily. Clint isn't done yet, though. He hooks his bow around Steve's neck in a practiced move, one that Natasha remembers entirely too well.

He gets Steve distracted long enough to slip away and get up higher. He scales the equipment in a seemingly precarious manner; she's seen him do this before. He fires the arrow quickly - just as quickly pressing a button on his bow. The arrow explodes with a quiet, yet percussive snap. 

The bola is shaded a matte black, catching none of the light as it wraps around Steve's legs. His eyes go comically wide as he topples over in quick succession, the bola making a muted clicking noise as Clint whoops with laughter and triumph.

"I think that means you owe us breakfast, Cap," she says easily, mind still whirling from the dream.

Steve laughs, sitting up as Clint hops off of the equipment (a treadmill panel, now that Natasha's looking) grinning smugly. Natasha feels something settle in her gut, deep and strong, like making her first target and finishing her first job. 

"Guess so," Steve says, standing with the bola in his hands, grinning. Clint motions for her, passing a hand over her shoulder in a skimming motion as Steve leads them to the kitchen.

Natasha follows both of them out of the gym, Steve examining the bola intently, listening to Clint describe the materials. Mind quiet, she leans into Clint for just a moment, pressing their shoulders together as she goes into the kitchen, starting a pot of coffee.

Outside, the sun is coming up slowly but surely. She busies herself with pulling mugs down before letting out a slow breath. She pushes the memories back into their box, proverbially locking it, before she turns and joins the conversation.


End file.
